each pale song
your hair has grown deep
into the green stone of age
just as hills have grown between us
and oceans salt everything –
sunbathers
and their pastel umbrellas
get away with nothing here
and driftwood piles
in hours
heaped upon
what few memories I have gathered
even as my head spills them
in a dance of clouds,
torsos thin,
each pale song
a gouge in my chest
but it is simple enough:
I want you
and now the statues have turned all
shoulders
tear-drop smooth
and the polish of feet
across your body,
how many is it now?
your hands were so wide,
as if to rival Atlas
who was always just out of sight
who was slowly unfreezing
and whose pulse
was seismic
but who could not fit you
within his stern gaze
and I will forgive every stumble
each scratch
each sour bite you give
when ignored
and even, envy so great
as to rattle my very bones
but you hid so well,
caught,
suspended
between a breath
and the settling of night
your sweet face
I wonder
did you ever truly need to paint it?
your own voice grew young
in my listening
and
I leant against cool railings
and you called me back to see
secrets
that were everyone’s
but become ours
by the whispers I couldn’t fully unearth,
as crowds of automated eyes
pillaged you
as I myself would later do
as so many could not resist to do
and what I kept
could never satisfy
your immortality dried
as we worked,
great deserts in our fingertips
and dust in our kisses
and though I cannot feel more shame
knowing that I want more
at least when change came
thank god
you were not part of its neon creeping.
About 12 days to go until release of VI 😀
